


Family Reunion

by DuskyDancing



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Established Relationship, Even though this fic has nothing to do with his birthday lol, F/M, Family Fluff, Felileth Kid, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Happy Birthday Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Jeralt and Rodrigue being wholesome granddads, POV Annette, POV Jeralt, Post-Canon, Time Travel, but they have no idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29585865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuskyDancing/pseuds/DuskyDancing
Summary: A magical accident sends Felix and Byleth's young daughter ten years into the past, before Fodlan's War began. She quickly crosses paths with both the Captain of the Knights of Seiros and a certain Duke who had just arrived at the Officer's Academy for official business.Aka the convoluted plot to introduce Jeralt and Rodrigue to their granddaughter.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth, Jeralt Reus Eisner & Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	Family Reunion

“Okay, one more try.” Annette bit her lip as she concentrated on the teacup on the garden table in front of her. 

A hand came to rest on her arm before she could summon the magic to her fingertips once more. “Annie,” Mercie said in her sweetly corrective voice, “Do you really think you should be practicing magic when we finally get to watch little Sitri?”

Annette huffed and dropped her arms to her sides. “You’re right.” She turned her attention to the little girl bouncing in Mercie’s lap. “Magic can wait when you’re entertaining the Kingdom’s cutest little Lady!”

“Don’t hog her for too long,” Sylvain called from the other side of the garden table. “This is the first time Felix and Byleth have let any of us watch her alone in a long time. We only have a couple of hours. Gotta make it count.”

“Count for what, exactly?” Annette raised an eyebrow. “You’d better not go putting any ideas in her head, Sylvain.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to be a good uncle!”

Bernadetta, kneeling in the grass, fumbled with Sitri’s little blue winter dress. The girl waved her arms around in the long sleeves, chewing at the fluffy white fur cuffs. “Do you think she likes it? Oh, she hates it doesn’t she?!”

“Relax, Bernie! She’s just getting used to it, I’m sure,” Mercie said, smoothing out the dress’s soft hood.

“Yeah, who knows what her parents have been dressing her in,” Sylvain chuckled. “She probably appreciates the change in appearance.”

Bernie stepped back. “I sure hope so! I worked super hard on this.”

That, she had, for the Countess had previously only shown her handiwork on stuffed toys and embroideries on small pouches. Annette had always found Bernie’s designs cute, and together, she and Mercie had convinced her to tailor dresses. Who better to try it on than the Archbishop’s daughter?

“Blue suits her so well!” Annette clasped her hands together. Not to mention how cute and silly it was to see a toddler nibbling on her fancy dress sleeves.

“Yeah, matches her eyes!” Mercie smiled. “It’s almost like this teal was made to go best with her black hair too.”

Bernie blushed furiously. “Aww, thanks guys! I just hope _they_ like it too!”

Sylvain sighed. “Alright, my turn with the kid. As fun as dress talk is, both me and Sitri are getting bored.”

Annette pouted as Mercie passed the girl over to the Margrave’s waiting hands. “And what do _you_ propose, Sylvain?”

“You could try singing for her, Annie!” Mercie smiled.

“Yeah, but I already sang for her this morning.” Annette tapped her chin. “What about the greenhouse? We could show her the flower beds.”

“And ruin her brand new dress? No way!” Bernie huffed.

As the debate continued, Sitri looked back and forth between each person as they spoke. She wasn’t a fussy kid, so why were they struggling to find things to do with her?

Sylvain finally answered the question addressed to him after cooing over Sitri and allowing her to get comfortable. “You were practicing magic earlier, right? It might entertain her.”

Annette tilted her head in confusion. “You want me to...keep practicing?”

“Yeah! Did you see the way her face lit up with your magic? It’s like a show to her.”

“Really?” The mage held up her hand and summoned a small flicker of fire to her fingertips. Sitri’s eyes immediately lit up with her hands, and she leaned forward in Sylvain’s lap to get closer. Annette pulled her hand back, afraid Sitri would burn herself. “Huh, she does like magic.”

Mercie giggled. “Don’t tell that to her parents. They’ve been trying to get her to hold onto a tiny wooden sword for months.”

“Um guys,” Bernie held a finger up. “Isn’t this dangerous? Practicing new magic with her around?”

“Relax, Bernie, it’s only small time magic. Won’t hurt her.” Sylvain waved nonchalantly in the air. “Besides, Annette’s been learning from the best, right?”

Annette buried her hands underneath her legs. “Lysithea’s been teaching me alot. And time magic _is_ harmless. It’s not like I’m going to cast anything _on_ her.”

“Anything could go wrong!” Bernie ran her hands through her hair.

“I trust your judgment, Annie,” Mercie smiled. “If you feel it’s safe, then go for it! I’m sure Sitri won’t complain at all.”

Annette nodded. “Okay, I’ll try it on this teacup again,” she said, turning her attention back to the object in question. “Just a simple time spell. Hopping forward by a few minutes.”

“Ready, Sitri?” Sylvain pointed to the cup. “You’re about to see something disappear...then reappear!”

The girl giggled and squirmed on her uncle’s lap, clapping her hands in anticipation.

“Oh, I can’t watch!” Bernie covered her face and turned away.

Now that she had an audience to entertain, Annette felt much more nervous. It took all of her mental focus to ignore the adorable little girl sitting in her peripheral. She rubbed her hands together, as if the friction would somehow help her magic. “Okay, here we go.”

She muttered the incantation and moved her hands in the exact circular motion she’d practiced. The giggling and rustling beside her was pushed aside, assumed to be her audience enjoying the show. Slowly, the ethereal ribbons began to encase her target. 

Until the giggling turned into squealing, and the light shuffling became the fumbling of furniture and fragile teaware. Before she could cancel her spell, a tiny body came crashing into her vision of focus and grabbed the teacup.

“No, Sitri!”

Instinctively, her hands stopped performing the somatics and reached forward, but before she could stop Sitri from falling over the table and onto sharp broken teacup pieces, the magic circled her too. In a flash, the little girl disappeared. 

All were silent in the following moments until Sylvain spoke. “Um...Annie? What’d you do?”

“I...I think Sitri just...fell into my spell’s aura.”

Her hands trembled, still stretched out to catch the girl.

“I told you guys this was a horrible idea!” Bernie stood and pulled at her hair as she paced back and forth across the tea garden. 

“H-how could I be so stupid?” Annie choked.

“I was the one holding her!” Sylvain cried. “Why wasn’t I more careful?”

“Now, now,” Mercie said, and Annette could tell that even she was panicking behind her soft exterior. “This was all an accident. She’s a strong little girl for her age, and Annie didn’t cast anything harmful.”

“Y-yeah,” Annette nodded, trying to recollect her thoughts. “That spell was...to send the teacup forward in time by a few minutes. We just have to wait.”

“I don’t mean to be _that guy_ , Annie, but is there something that could...cancel that spell?” Sylvain asked. “Maybe bring her back?”

“An ‘undo’ spell would be great right now!” Bernie yelled.

“Shush!” Annie said to the panicking girl. “Lysithea _did_ teach me something like that, but I have to remember first. I’d rather wait first, just in case I get it wrong.”

“You won’t, Annie,” Mercie put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You’re the best among us.”

“Okay.” Sylvain breathed deeply, gesturing the motion of his breath with his hands. “Everyone just stay calm, and we’ll get Sitri back in no time.”

“Let’s just hope _they_ don’t find out before we do.”

* * *

“The knights’ quarters are this way, though I doubt your kid’s anywhere near there.”

Duke Fraldarius, finally rid of the soldiers that had accompanied him, finally began to follow Jeralt past the central garden walls of Garreg Mach. 

One of the many things he _didn’t_ miss about being a knight was having to take orders, and why Rhea had chosen Jeralt to escort the highest-ranking Faerghus noble across the monastery, he didn’t know. He understood hospitality, but surely a young knight was better-suited for the job. They’d atleast be more willing to kiss the man’s ass than Jeralt was. Besides, the man had made it all this way from Fraldarius territory; he could find his own way around.

Orders from Rhea often came with no-questions-asked, though Jeralt often pushed his luck with his mouth anyways. 

“Oh, I know where my son may be. I simply wish to visit my old training hall before alerting him to my presence.”

When talking of his son, the Duke’s tone sounded rather strained. Sure, his official business was to retrieve the Gautier relic, but one would think that travelling for days on horseback would warrant a little excitement to see family. Jeralt knew better than to pry into the petty family drama of Faerghus nobles, however, and simply grunted as they continued their walk. 

“It’s so different from when I attended,” the Duke said. When Jeralt glanced back, his company was only partially aware of where he was walking, seemingly much more interested in the environment. The Duke sighed, “Yet the same in many regards.”

“Yeah,” Jeralt figured it best to let the man reminisce. “I felt the same, and I was gone for twenty years. Lady Rhea sure likes her consistency.”

The Duke hummed behind him. “I can understand fulfilling the picky needs of the highest-ranking among us. His Majesty was similar.”

Jeralt opened his mouth, considering to offer formal condolences over the loss of the King of Faerghus, but winced at the thought. The tragedy was years ago, and Jeralt had only heard the news through several degrees of separation. He was better off staying out of the Kingdom’s business, lest they pry into his private life in return.

A sudden crash within the tea garden snapped his mind back to full attention and his sword out of its sheath. He preferred the lance, but the blade was short enough to carry conveniently with him around the monastery. He sprinted, but the Duke, who _did_ carry a lance from his long journey, outpaced him. Soon, his long cape swept around the corner in front of Jeralt. 

Impressive, but showy.

No immediate threat made itself known in the garden. Besides an overturned table, nothing and no one else was present.

“Strange,” Jeralt muttered, darting his eyes around. 

“Someone could be hiding.” The Duke approached the wall of hedges and pried a section of it apart with his lance. 

Considering Duscur, Jeralt understood the Duke’s impulse to assume the worst. He, however, opted to investigate the single toppled table in the very center of the gardens. If someone had tried to run away, surely their trail would have left a mess, yet only the middle of the tea garden had been disturbed. Slowly and cautiously, he lifted the tablecloth, expecting to encounter a high-strung feral cat beneath it. 

He found the source of the ruckus, but it definitely wasn’t a cat.

“Uh.” Shit, how was one supposed to address Faerghus nobility? “Duke?” 

The man turned with a single eyebrow raised, but otherwise undisturbed by Jeralt’s likely improper address. “Yes, Captain?”

“You, uh...you got a niece or somethin’?”

The Duke approached and gave a light chuckle at the strange question. “None that I know of. Why do you- Oh!” He froze as he encountered the same big blue eyes and dark hair that had given Jeralt pause. “Well, hello.” 

Surprisingly, the girl hadn’t cried one bit, though Jeralt supposed a kid brave enough to wander off alone could handle tumbling over a small table. She just...stared up at both of them inquisitively, chewing on her white sleeves. Or, what used to be white sleeves, but were now stained with tea, grass, and mud.

The Duke didn’t keep her waiting for long when he reached down to pick her up. In an even bigger surprise, her little arms dropped from her mouth and opened expectantly for his hands.

Jeralt raised an eyebrow and laughed. “You sure? Looks just like you, minus the…” Jeralt traced the Duke’s mustache—or whatever he called one—on his own lip “...hair string.”

He joked, but only half-heartedly. The girl’s wavy black hair was nearly identical to the mane on the man holding her.

The Duke bellowed a laugh. “Your quips keep me on my toes, Captain.” He held the little girl up, but as he got a closer look at her face, the man’s gaze softened. His smile fell into a focussed line. “She’s certainly wearing Fraldarius colors.”

“A kid of one of your soldiers?”

“Hah, I’d know if one of them had brought a little one along.”

“Well she’s obviously not hurt, and there’s no one else around. I suppose I should take her to the infirmary until her parents come looking for her.”

The Duke nodded. “Very well. I shall accompany you.”

“Are you sure? Don’t you wanna find your kid?”

The man laughed again. “At home, Felix spent his free time either in his quarters or with his sword. He will be easy to find here. Besides.” He regarded the girl sitting in his arms and elicited a soft giggle with a few bounces. “It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to hold a child like his. Why, not since Felix was this little, perhaps.”

The giggle that came from the girl jolted something awake within Jeralt. Something old, instinctive and...paternal in nature. He suddenly found himself years in the past, back in a remote village far away from the monastery and out of the church’s sight. In an inn, whose room he’d paid for by selling fresh wolf furs, he watched his little girl swing around his dagger sheath. When she’d swung at him and he’d feigned getting stabbed, she’d let out an identical giggle. 

Jeralt shook his head, accrediting the feeling to nothing but memories. 

The girl then grabbed a tuft of the Duke’s hair and pulled hard, exclaiming, “Papa!”

The Duke winced a laugh and pried his locks free. “Now, that’s certainly not true.”

Now it was Jeralt’s turn to bellow. “Hah! Are you sure she’s not related?”

Despite the endless teasing, the Duke carried the little girl all the way to the infirmary. Neither men were prepared for Manuela’s reaction. 

“Oh how _precious!_ ” Her face brightened before shifting to the men accompanying the girl. “Well, this is a sight I thought I’d never see. If it isn’t the _Captain of the Knights_ and _Duke Fraldarius_ in _my_ infirmary all at once!”

“Welcoming as ever, Manuela,” Jeralt nodded. “Found a missing kid. Any idea who her folks are?”

The healer shuffled through some drawers before pulling out a quill and parchment. She side-eyed the noble as she scribbled onto the page. “If I didn’t know any better, Your Grace, I’d say to look in the mirror.”

Rodrigue grunted, but refrained from arguing the same point again. Soon, Manuela shoved the paper into Jeralt’s hands. 

“Sign this for my records, acknowledging responsibility for her until her parents are found.”

Jeralt took it, only because he had no other choice and the other man’s hands were occupied. “Isn’t that _your_ job? We’re just the messengers.”

A slender finger and dangerously pointed nail soon came dangerously close to his face. “Uh-uh! My job is busy enough! I can’t take _all_ the responsibility when I’ve got students to look after too, you know. Plus, does nobody care about my birthday?!”

The healer thinking herself busier than the Captain of the Knights and more time-worthy than Duke Fraldarius was entertaining, but Jeralt knew better than to get on her bad side. 

“Just for your birthday, I’ll sign it, but only if grandpa here signs it too.”

The Duke, who was in the middle of a tickle fight with the girl, snapped his attention to them. “Now, that’s just disparaging.”

The men obeyed and signed where she directed, and the healer promptly left with neither warning nor further instruction. 

“Well, looks like we’re stuck here until she returns, Your Grace. Didn’t mean to pull you into all this.”

The Duke set the girl down and addressed Jeralt. “That’s quite alright. I can’t complain about the company.”

“Um...thanks?”

The Duke chuckled, “No ill will, but I didn’t mean you.” He nodded to the girl, who was now waddling her way in Jeralt’s direction.

Jeralt would’ve given the man a hard time, but the same deep instinct from before was pulled from within him again at the sight of her. Something about the girl seemed...off. Kids would always look at Jeralt funny, but she smiled at him like she knew him.

She stumbled when she reached him, and he caught her easily. A part of him wanted to tell her she shouldn’t fall and expect others to always catch her, something he’d taught Byleth since she was a little girl, but he’d never felt the need to correct someone else’s kid before. The most he’d have done would’ve been just to sidestep them and let their parents mind their business.

Amidst his wandering thoughts, he spotted a white swatch of fabric peeking out from the back of her coat. “Hold on, sweetheart, something’s sticking out of your hood there.” 

The small swatch had been sewn into her dress. Jeralt tucked it back into her hood, but not before a single word caught his attention. Or rather, a name.

 _Sitri_.

Jeralt blinked, thinking he’d just misread the name. Before the little girl could wrestle herself away, he pulled the swatch back out and read the entire label. 

**_To Little Sitri_ **

**_From Aunt Bernie._ **

**_1190_ **

So much to take in at once. First, this little girl shared the same name as the mother of his child. Second, he now knew the name of one of her aunts. Third, if that final line was a date, then it read ten years from now. 

Jeralt stood frozen as the girl—as Sitri—shuffled away. 

Her name rang through his head over and over. And he could swear, when she turned back to look at him, he could see his own daughter in her face. The pieces clicked together, why her face and smile and giggle made him feel so...paternal. An idea began to form in his head.

What if, ten years from today, his daughter had one of her own, named after her mother. And, somehow, she’d been sent back? A crazy idea, but Jeralt had witnessed stranger things in his life.

He swiftly stood and scooped Sitri into his arms, spinning her around the room just as he had with Byleth when she was little. The girl giggled and clung tightly to his collar like this had already been routine for them. Jeralt eventually got dizzy and sat with her, but she continued to spin on her own accord. 

“You seem to have lightened up, Captain,” the Duke chuckled.

But if Byleth could be her mother, then who could be…

Jeralt shot to his feet and looked to the Duke, who was eyeing him inquisitively. “Tell me about your son.”

The man’s brows shot up in surprise before quickly furrowing. “Which one?” he asked, his posture shifting much more defensively.

_Shit._

Jeralt had forgotten that the Duke had lost a son at Duscur. He grunted and rubbed the back of his head. “Felix. The angry one.”

Rodrigue’s expression relaxed. “Well, you have one thing about him right, though his sharp exterior is not all there is to him.” The man folded his arms and shifted his weight to lean against a wall. “He’s trained with a sword all his life. He’s smart, observant…” he trailed off. “Why are you asking about my son? I’d prefer to know before delving too deeply.”

“Just curious,” Jeralt said. “I noticed my daughter’s been sparring with him outside of class lately. He seems...attached.” He glanced down once again at the little girl who reminded him of his own more and more with each second. 

“If your daughter’s as good with a sword as I’ve heard, then it’s no surprise. Felix has been seeking out a rival ever since...well, since Duscur.” Rodrigue’s hesitance to reveal or speculate too much about his moody son made sense. Complicated political systems made for complicated families, though Jeralt certainly wasn’t one to talk.

“If you’re concerned for Felix’s attitude towards her,” Rodrigue continued, “I can certainly have him moved to another class. He’s already angry with me, so one more reason wouldn’t affect much.”

“That’s not necessary,” Jeralt said, keeping his eyes on the girl hobbling around the room. He sat and opened his lap for her, which she promptly made her way into. He contemplated telling Rodrigue his theory, but the man didn’t know the things Jeralt knew—about the church, about Rhea’s blood. What was worse, Jeralt didn’t know what the Duke knew either. Where his allegiance lied in regards to the church and the nobility. “I trust my daughter to handle herself.”

Rodrigue laughed again. “Certainly, if she’s taught my son this long, she can handle his outbursts.”

“She’s been around mercs her whole life. She’s heard worse than any Faerghus noble can even think to say.”

“I see.” Rodrigue stroked his chin, smoothing out the lines of his ridiculous mustache in the process. “Say, Captain, it’s been some time since I’ve been able to share stories, and you seem like you have many to tell. What say you to a few drinks after all of this? ”

Jeralt raised his eyebrow. “A stuffy noble like yourself inviting _me_ to drink?” he laughed. “Only if you can keep up.”

Rodrigue smiled and opened his mouth to rebuke him, but not before Manuela re-entered the room, carrying a blanket and a plate of vegetables from the garden. 

“You might be waiting a while, so here’s some food and a blanket to keep her comfortable.” Her eyes shifted to the girl sitting in Jeralt’s lap, completely enamored by her company, and the healer’s hands found their normal resting place on her hips after emptying themselves of supplies. “Though, I doubt that’ll be a problem.”

Rorigue barely paid her mind when he spoke. “We appreciate the accommodation, Miss...Manuela, was it?”

She huffed. “You flatter me, _Your Grace_. I’ll take all the acknowledgement I can get these days!” Her back was halfway out the door again before she turned. “Oh, by the way, Jeralt, your kid’s looking for you.”

A bit of panic set in. The best way to test his theory was to introduce the kid to Byleth herself, but the confirmation would only lead to even more chaos. If the nosy crest scholar tested her and either the Fraldarius crest or whatever crest was in Byleth came up... 

The possibility of denial also lingered in the back of his mind. If this kid, who strangely resembled his own daughter and wore a tag dated ten years from now, turned out to be completely unrelated, then maybe Jeralt really was getting old. Too old to deal with the church’s bullshit.

“And did you tell her where I was?” he responded.

“No, I led her on a wild goose chase!” The healer rolled her eyes. “Of course I told her! You think I have time to craft some nonsense scheme? She’s probably coming up the stairs as we speak.”

Jeralt sighed and stood. “Alright, alright. Go take a break, Manuela. We’ve got...her...handled,” he said as he turned back to the girl, possibly _his_ granddaughter, playing with the regal coat of the Duke, possibly her _other_ grandfather. 

Jeralt swallowed the sickness gathering in his throat, thinking of his daughter marrying into Faerghus’ most high-ranking family under the royals. Though, if the Duke could hold down a few pints, and if he was right about his son, maybe _this_ noble family wouldn’t be the worst thing for Byleth. They were separate from the church, after all, and if anything could protect her from Rhea…

If she was safe enough to learn her mother’s name and _chose_ to have a family. If Jeralt would be able to be a part of his granddaughter’s life...

The Captain shook his head and left the room. As he made his way down the hallway, he spotted his daughter’s familiar blue hair rounding the corner. And trailing after her, with his sword ready at his hip and a scowl on his face, was the Fraldarius boy. 

Jeralt sighed again. From their sweat-glistened faces and heavy breathing, he could only guess that they’d just been sparring. 

“Dad,” she called after him, and it took Jeralt every inch of self-restraint to not step between her and the noble’s son. “I was looking for you.”

“Hey kid,” he said, then turned to the dark-haired boy. “Felix.” The boy’s eyebrows raised, taken aback by the Captain’s first-name acknowledgment, but he simply nodded in response. Giving his attention back to his daughter, he continued, “Well, you found me. What can I do for you?”

“My students want to learn to use a lance, but I need more experience with it first. Do you have time this afternoon to train with me?”

Jeralt glanced between his daughter and the Fraldarius boy. By the kid’s avoidance of eye contact and impatient—or nervous—finger tapping, Jeralt could only guess who Byleth had meant by “students”.

“I’ll do you one better, kid,” Jeralt said, then slapped his hand onto the boy’s shoulder. “I’ll train you directly.”

The kid jumped at the sudden contact, but his surprised expression was quickly replaced with a glare. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t spar well with knights.” He brushed Jeralt’s hand from his shoulder.

“I wasn’t offering,” he smirked. “Dunno what you’ve got against knights, but I’m Captain for a reason. Believe it or not, there was a time when the Knights of Seiros were less...y’know...stuffy?” He shrugged.

The kid huffed and turned his head to the side. “Fine.” 

Byleth’s face brightened a little. Though she never smiled much, Jeralt had learned to catch onto the little changes in her expression when she was happy. “Thanks, Dad,” she said.

“There’s something I’ve gotta take care of first.” Jeralt turned back down the hallway and waved the kids along. “You’re not gonna believe who we found.”

“In the infirmary?” Byleth asked. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, but-”

Jeralt paused when he turned the corner into the small room. Where he’d left Rodrigue and their new, mysterious companion, now only the blue-coated man stood by the window, looking out onto the monastery grounds. 

“You found...my old man,” Felix grumbled, his voice noticeably lower and more irritated than before. “Congrats.”

“Hey,” Jeralt strode over to the Duke, too panicked to care to address him formally. “Where’s the kid?”

“Oh!” The man’s eyebrows raised, and he quickly glanced around the room. “She was just- Wait, who, again?”

“The kid. The little girl. Resembled you perfectly. Remember? She was right-” he stopped himself again. The table where they’d signed their names, promising to look after her until her family arrived, was now empty, though the quill had rolled onto the ground.

“I-” The Duke rubbed his head. “I apologize, Captain, but the day seems fuzzy to me.”

Jeralt’s heart sank. His own memories of the day began to blur. They’d walked through the gardens, heard a commotion, and...then what? Found someone? A sweet smile and laugh peppered his poor memory, and he swore he was forgetting something important. 

“Dad? Is everything alright?” Byleth repeated from earlier, though her face now showed a hint of worry. Even the Fraldarius kid, who hadn’t appeared happy at all to come across his father, had dropped his hands to his sides and watched the two men with curiosity.

“Yeah, kid.” Jeralt shook his aching head, trying to clear exactly what he’d come here for. “Just getting older, I suppose.”

“Hope my old man hasn’t caused you trouble,” the boy said and shot his father an irritated glare.

“Felix,” the Duke barked, “you will watch your tone in the presence of the Captain and your Professor.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Jeralt waved it off. “Quite the opposite, actually. Rodrigue actually offered to buy me a drink. Speaking of which.” He rubbed his sore head. “I could use that beer right about now.”

“I...I did, didn’t I?” The Duke still nursed his own headache, but he quickly recomposed himself and stood straight. “My memory may be blank in some places, Captain, but I don’t recall offering to _buy_ your drink.”

“Ah, you got me.” Jeralt jabbed his shoulder. “It’s on me, since you’re the…” he gestured to the Duke’s garments, “ _guest_ of honor this month.”

The man chuckled. “Drinking on duty, Captain?”

“I wouldn’t be a proper Captain if I wasn’t a little drunk on the job sometimes.”

On his way out, Jeralt clasped the shoulder of the Fraldarius boy, unsure why he felt a strange need to assess his character more deeply than the other students. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about our training later. Be in the grounds after supper.”

The kid stood puzzled, but managed a nod. Byleth came to his aid and pushed Jeralt along. “Just make sure you’re sobered up by then,” she quipped. 

The two fathers left the infirmary, leaving behind their respective, very confused, children.

* * *

_“Tempus Reditus!”_

Annette recited the words as precisely as she could, making sure to move her hands in the _right_ direction this time. After a few moments of inactivity, she huddled forward and buried her face in her hands.

“Oh, it’s not working! I’m such a failure! I can’t believe I did this!”

Mercedes patted her back. “It’s okay, Annie, you didn’t mean to...lose Sitri,” she said the last bit in a hushed tone.

Sylvain stood confidently and held a finger in the air. “Don’t worry, I have a plan.” When Annette finally lifted her face to him hopefully, he continued. “We all tell Felix and Byleth what happened, then immediately hide behind Annie!”

“What?!” she squealed. 

“We all know Felix would murder all of us but you! You’re our safest bet!”

“No no no, You are _not_ pinning this all on me! Having me practice new magic in front of her was _your_ idea!”

Sylvain’s prideful mask vanished. “You don’t think I’m panicking too? I’m supposed to be the best uncle in the world, and I lost-” his voice broke, and standing so close to him, Annette could see his eyes reddening. “I lost my best friend’s kid!”

“Let’s all just breathe,” Mercedes said gently, holding her hands out. “I’m sure there’s a solution we haven’t thought of yet.”

“I tried the command to undo the spell and return everything to normal, and nothing happened!” Annette exclaimed. “Obviously, I _didn’t_ send her ten minutes into the future, because more than that much time has passed!”

“Oh no, w-we’re all dead, aren’t we?” Bernie had curled into a ball in the corner of the tea garden, only occasionally letting out bits of panic. “Felix is gonna kill us, and then Byleth is gonna use her time thingy and kill us all over again!”

It always hurt to see Bernie regress to her old frantic habit to jump to the worst-case scenario, even if she had overcome her family trauma. In this case, however, she might have been right.

“ _What_ is going _on_ down here?!” Manuela cried from outside the garden hedges. All but Bernie did their best to recollect themselves, but once everyone saw the healer enter with little Sitri in her arms, they all erupted with excitement and relief.

“Sitri!” Annette squealed. 

Manuela took a cautious step backward. “First of all, would anyone like to tell me why the Archbishop’s daughter was suddenly teleported into my infirmary? She nearly toppled over my inkwell! Are you _trying_ to make me work more on my birthday?”

“Glad you got your priorities straight, Manuela,” Sylvain said and approached the girl. “You’re not hurt, are you sweetie?”

“I checked her for injuries, she’s fine!” Manuela protested.

“Wait, so...she was teleported to your infirmary?” Annette breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank the goddess!”

The healer didn’t appear satisfied with Annette’s reaction, so Mercie stepped in. “There was an accident. A magical one. Sitri stumbled into a time spell’s aura, and we all thought she’d been accidentally sent to the past or future. We’re just relieved that it only seemed to have been a warp spell.”

“You were practicing new magic around a _child?!_ ” Manuela stepped even further back even though Sitri was reaching out for Sylvain.

“It was an accident, like Mercie said. Won’t happen again, I promise.” Sylvain stepped forward again and offered his arms for Sitri to be placed into. “And we’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell the Archbishop and Duke Fraldarius about this,” he winked.

Manuela huffed, yet surrendered the toddler to her uncle’s arms. Sitri herself had been rather calm throughout the whole ordeal, merely quietly observing the faces of those around her. 

“Alright, but you owe me!”

Mercie smiled. “Absolutely! I’ll cover for you when you want to have a night out again!”

“I can set you up with one of my knights,” Sylvain winked again.

Annette raised her hand. “I’ll try to invent a spell to cure a hangover!”

Manuela tapped her chin. “I’ll think about it, but any more funny business and I’m going straight to Her Grace. This could’ve gone terribly wrong.”

“Understood.” Annette placed a hand over her heart and bowed. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Happy birthday!” Bernie added as Manuela turned to leave, which seemed to make her happier, compared to what everyone else had offered.

As the healer departed back to her office, however, the mage couldn’t shake the nagging voice in the back of her mind. She’d practiced warp spells thousands of times, both on and off the battlefield, for the better part of a decade, and she was sure that the spell she’d cast earlier definitely _wasn’t_ that. Unless she really was misremembering, but she’d always been so precise with her spells. 

“So...what now?” Bernie finally picked herself up.

Sitri bounced herself within her uncle’s grasp, acting without a care as if the last half-hour of panic hadn’t happened at all. She retreated to her old habit of reaching for hair, which Sylvain had more than enough of to offer. 

“Now, we go back to being good aunts and uncles,” Sylvain said. “And pray that Felix and Byleth never find out.”

“Find out about what?”

The massive relief that Annette was flying on suddenly crashed into a panic, as the voice of Felix himself snuck up from behind them. She turned, and sure enough, he and Byleth stood at the opposite entrance of the tea garden.

“About...the new dress Bernadetta hand-stitched for Sitri!” Sylvain spun and showed off the little girl, setting her down so the puffy dress could be displayed in all of its glory. Sylvain was good at putting on a friendly mask, but Annette wasn’t sure how much he’d be able to fool Felix.

For a moment, the faces of her parents softened at the sight of her, and she in turn giggled with excitement and waddled her way towards them. As always, she ran straight to her dad, who scooped her up into his arms.

“Hey, little rogue,” Felix said with a rare smile and joyful pitch to his voice that was rarely witnessed. “You look different today.” 

“Do-do you like it?” Bernie asked. 

Sitri sat comfortably in her father’s grasp, quickly settling to lean against his shoulder. Byleth leaned closer and tickled Sitri’s feet, eliciting more kicks and giggles from the girl. “She seems to like it.”

“It’s...cute, I’ll admit,” Felix said.

“Think she can still hold a sword while wearing it?” Byleth asked, sharing a quick smile with her husband like no one else was present.

Annette stifled a giggle. The knowledge that their daughter seemed more drawn to magic than the sword burned in her mind, but she certainly didn’t want to be the poor soul who broke the news to them. A quick glance towards Sylvain told her he was experiencing the same feeling, holding his lips between his teeth to keep from laughing.

Unfortunately, the rare, soft expression on Felix changed when a small paper slip fell from Sitri’s dress pocket amidst her fussing.

Annette didn’t recall anyone putting anything in her dress.

Felix retrieved it and began reading. Quickly, his eyebrows furrowed, and he shot an irritated glance to the group. “Is this some kind of joke?” he asked, waving the paper.

“What is it, Felix?” Mercie asked.

Byleth, surprised by his sudden change in attitude, leaned over his shoulder to read the paper. “That’s...dad’s handwriting.”

“Yeah, my old man’s too,” he quipped, still waiting for an answer from the rest.

Sylvain took the note from him, and Annette read it with him. 

**_Garreg Mach Infirmary_ **

**_Date: 3rd of Verdant Rain Moon, 1180_ **

**_Patient name: N.N._ **

**_Reason for Visit: Missing Child Located. No Parents Present._ **

**_Person(s) of Contact: Jeralt Eisner & Lord Rodrigue Fraldarius_ **

“It’s...a note from the infirmary?” Annie stated. Manuela had just brought her over, but she hadn’t said anything about filling out a note for her. And...the signatures.

“Dated ten years ago,” Felix said. 

Bernie tilted her head in confusion. “Okay, I put together that dress myself, and I can one-hundred-percent-for-certain say that I did _not_ put that there!”

“Yeah, I’m not sure how it could’ve gotten there,” Annette tapped her chin in thought. “Unless–eep!” Her squeal of panic outpaced her own self-control, as thoughts returned to that endless nagging ever since Sitri had returned. 

What...what if her spell _had_ worked, but she’d sent the little girl _back_ in time instead. Back to a time when both Jeralt and Lord Rodrigue had been at the monastery. Instead of sending her forwards by a simple ten minutes, she’d sent her back _ten years_! How could she be that far off?

No. No no no. What would be the odds of them _both_ finding Sitri at the same time and bringing her to the infirmary?

The infirmary.

When Annette had uttered the return command, maybe it _had_ worked, and Sitri had been sent back to the same location she’d been in. Straight to Manuela’s office. Her breathing became short, and her eyes darted from side to side. Her theory was beginning to piece itself together and make more sense with each passing second.

“Unless...what, Annette?” Byleth asked. The mage glanced up, to find both of them looking to her, Byleth with concern, and Felix with a growing impatience. 

She turned to her companions. Beside her, Sylvain nodded affirmatively to the question in Annette’s eyes. Mercie gave her a sweet supportive smile, which never failed to boost Annette’s confidence. Bernie was looking between Annette and the couple expectantly, still gripping her hair in a panic.

Annette knew what she needed to do. Facing Felix and Byleth again, she took a deep breath and began, “So I’ve been practicing this new spell…”

She told them everything. The time spell accident, the panic, the false relief, and her realization only moments before. All the while, they both listened intently, only breaking contact with Annette to share uncertain glances with one another, and Annette swore Felix’s hold on Sitri tightened.

Annette expected heavy consequences. In the very best-case scenario, she’d never get to watch Sitri again. Worst-case, well, she’d be lucky if she got to keep her teaching role at Garreg Mach.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” Annette said. “But I am so, so sorry! Please don’t be angry with the others, they’re innocent.”

When she looked up to them, however, they looked more confused than angry, as if a realization had just hit them. 

“Felix,” Byleth began, her gaze distant. “Do you suddenly remember…?”

“That day in the infirmary?” he finished.

At that, her gaze snapped up to him. “Yes. I remember him behaving so strangely, rambling about this kid they’d found.”

“Then they...got a drink together.”

“I’m pretty sure my dad made you spar him later,” Byleth chuckled.

“You don’t think…?”

Both of their gazes drifted down to Sitri, relaxing without a care as if it were just another day.

That time, it was Byleth who finished his sentence. “She met them?”

Mercie’s gasp brought their attention back to the group. “Oh, that’s lovely! I’m sure Jeralt and Lord Rodrigue absolutely adored her!”

“Lovely and dangerous!” Bernie squealed.

Sylvain rested a hand on his hips. “All it took was a break in time-space to get her to meet them.”

Felix’s expression morphed through several emotions—denial, confusion, shock—before he spoke gain. “I doubt they’d have any idea who she was,” Felix said. “Not that I’d be thrilled about him getting into her head, but damn…” he sighed with a look of rare, deep conflict.

Byleth, still rather stoic herself, watched Felix’s reaction closely before looking to Sitri and smiling. “Of course they’d like her. Jeralt would’ve been good to her regardless.” She sighed, the corners of her lips falling ever-so slightly. “I wish he was here, but I like it, the idea of them all meeting. I’ll take any miracle I can get,” Byleth said, stroking Sitri’s hair. 

Annette’s eyes widened. “You called it a miracle, so...you’re not mad?”

Felix sighed again, and with his silence, Byleth spoke. “Considering everything...I suppose not, but-”

“Don’t do it again,” Felix interjected, and though the conflict in his expression had softened, his sudden intense glance up to Annette felt like a knife had been held to her throat.

“Absolutely understood.” Annette bowed.

Felix grunted and turned his attention back to his family. “You okay?” he asked Byleth.

In response, Byleth smiled, leaned down, and kissed the top of Sitri’s head. She didn’t answer her husband, but addressed their daughter directly. “I hope you liked him too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday, Felix! (And also Manuela I guess, haha). This work has been in the making since before the holidays. I was thinking about how great Jeralt and Rodrigue would be as grandparents, which got to me thinking more about the potential friendship between the two granddads and how it would only be possible to meet them through some time travel shenanigans. And now here we are! I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Also, full disclosure, while writing this I recalled reading a Dimileth fic with a similar premise by LycheeCanon. I always want to give credit where it's due, so please check out their work, [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20115268/chapters/48446960), if you’re interested! It's a very wholesome, if bittersweet, story!


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